


In the Eye of the Beholder.

by Udonwnaknow1



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Character Death, Coda, Family, Feelings, Gen, Oops, Supernatural appropriate angst, but this is supernatural, kind of a, said that already, so no one stays that way, to everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:44:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2156118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Udonwnaknow1/pseuds/Udonwnaknow1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam died, Dean died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Eye of the Beholder.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: These amazing characters are very obviously not mine. No matter how much I pray.
> 
> Thanks to my awesome beta 'Kutiesmom' for her help in making sure I don't inflict the world with the pain of my terrible spelling.
> 
> ***********************************************

When Sam was little, Dean was his world. Whenever he'd introduce Dean to people he would always say "This is my big brother Dean" and he would look up at whoever he was talking to with his little chin jutting out, as if daring the other person to not find Dean as amazing he did.

Sometimes Dean would catch a glimpse of his little brothers face during these exchanges and the pride and hero worship sparkling out of those big eyes would make his heart swell.  
As Sam got older and more independent his introductions started to lack the 'big brother' in them, but the idolization in his voice never wavered.

Sometimes, when he forgot himself, forgot how cool he was now that he was in high school, the 'big brother' would sneak back in and Dean lived for those times.

*************************************************************************

When Sam went to Stanford he would sometimes talk about his family. Never when he was sober, and almost never about his dad. It was always Dean.

His words would come out slurred but his equally drunk friends where usually able to decipher at least a few. 

Sometimes they where strange words, like Djinns or Wraiths, but mostly it was "and then my big brother Dean..." But when they were all sober and questioning, he'd deny having ever brought it up and then he'd change the subject. 

But not before they would see the heartbroken longing on his face, and the long denied hero worship peaking through his eyes.

*************************************************************************

After Jess nothing was ok for a long time. 

The only thing that made Sam smile was that Dean was there, was always there. Had always been too, if the old motel receipt Sam had found crumpled in the corner of the duffle Dean had lent him was telling the truth. 

Dated a month before the fire, it was for three day stay, a mile from the Stanford campus.

Sometimes Sam would catch Dean looking at him, and Dean would turn his head away as soon as Sam caught him. But the worry in Deans eyes wasn't hard to read.

*************************************************************************

Driving around the US stuck together in a car for hours was both a blessing and a curse.  
It was nice to have this strange normal again. It was nice to be brothers again too.  
But sometimes, being stuck in a car for hours with the same person can be draining, no matter how much you love them.

Sam hated when they where fighting. Dean did to. But they were Winchesters and Winchesters sucked it up. They got over the stupid shit and did their jobs.  
They saved people. And if they lost a little bit of themselves along the way, that was ok. They were helping people. They were doing what they where trained to do, they were making a difference.

But sometimes it was hard to remember that, hardest in the moments when Dean would see his little brothers eyes glaze over, that shadow cross his face and settle.

In those moments, Dean was pretty sure he'd let the world burn down around him if Sam would just smile.  
*************************************************************************

When Sam died, so did Dean. It didn't seem such a big deal to trade his soul. This was how it was supposed to be. He didn't understand why Sam didn't see that.

Sam came first, always. And Dean made sure of this, (because) if anyone was in Sam's way, ever, Dean would cut them down. 

And if that included himself, well, Dean was ok with that.

*************************************************************************

The year Dean died was the worst year of Sam's life. It was the worst year of Dean's life too.

In the seconds before Dean died, when the feel of those claws ripped into his chest for the first time, he wanted to take it all back. The tear that landed on his face made his his eyes flick up. Sam's grief stared back and Dean felt ashamed.

He'd forgotten why he'd done this in the first place. He'd forgotten Sam, and that was unforgivable.

So Dean let himself die for the same reason he'd always lived, for Sam.

*************************************************************************

When Dean was gone so was Sam's equilibrium and it was easy, oh so easy, for Ruby to make herself Sam's new gravity.

With Ruby, Sam felt a semblance of control. This was something he could do. He could make himself stronger, better. He could fight the fight, like Dean did. Like Dean always did.

*************************************************************************

When Dean clawed his way out of his grave, he spared barely a moment on the why and how before he went to do what he always did, what he was trained to do, what he was made to do. He went to Sam.

*************************************************************************

The day Dean found out about the demon blood was the new worst day of Sam's life. 

The look in his brothers eyes and the set of his shoulder as he turned away chilled Sam to the bone. Dean looked hopeless, broken and it had been him, Sam, who had made him look that way.

Sam felt himself break a little too.  
*************************************************************************

When Dean stuck his knife into Ruby's stomach it didn't feel nearly as good as he had hoped it would. 

But then again, Dean doubted anything would ever feel just right again. 

But that didn't matter now, what mattered was grabbing his brother and getting out of the church. Because, come hell or high water, Dean knew, Sam came first.

*************************************************************************

Watching Sam grab his duffle out of the car almost made Dean reconsider. But no, this time the person in Sam's way was Sam. So Dean watched his little brother walk out of his life. 

Then Dean tried to remember how to live and realized that a life without meaning wasn't much of a life.  
*************************************************************************

In the few precious moment that Sam had in control of his body, he looked at his brother, at the man who had alway had his back. As Sam fell, he hoped that maybe now that he was gone, Dean would finally get a chance to look after his own back.

*************************************************************************

Living with Lisa was like putting a band aid on a gut wound. For a second, it worked. Sometimes, after Dean had been drinking for a bit, if he squinted and turned his head to the side, he could pretend that the boy handing him a wrench was Sam. But then he'd remember that his little brother was dead, again, and this time no one wanted his broken soul for a trade. So Dean would smile at Ben, take the wrench with one hand and grab the bottle with the other.  
*************************************************************************

When Sam was shaking, deep in the memories of hell, Dean would sometimes wonder if Castiel was right, if he was being selfish. If it wouldn't have been kinder to have let his brother die. But then Dean would think that maybe, just this once, he was allowed to be selfish.  
*************************************************************************

Sometimes Dean didn't like himself very much. 

Sliding the knife out of the blond woman's stomach was one of those times. She was Sam's friend and Dean had promised. And maybe now she looked human, but she wasn't. One day she'd remember that and the first person she would go to was Sam.

This was for Sam. And maybe Sam would hate him, but that was ok with Dean, because Sam would be safe and that was all that mattered in the end.

Still, sometimes Dean didn't like himself very much.

*************************************************************************

When Sam thought Dean wasn't looking he would press his fingers into his palm. Sometimes he would press so hard the stitches would rip and Dean would have to resew them.  
Sam didn't mind, each stitch was another day that he was here, in this world, with his brother. Whether it was real or not didn't matter much.

When Sam thought Dean wasn't looking, he'd look at Dean. Sam sometimes forgot that Dean was always looking.

*************************************************************************

The next time Dean left, Sam thought he was better prepared. He was wrong.

*************************************************************************

When he came back it took Dean a little while to find his footing again, it took Sam a little longer.

When Dean would let himself look back, the memories of how they used to be would cause a broken little smile to cross his face. But then he'd shake himself. There was no point in living in the past. 

That was then and the now demanded attention.

*************************************************************************

Sam knew he had to be careful, he had to do this perfectly, he had to do this right.

This was his chance, his moment of redemption. If this worked, and it had too, he could finally check off a little bit of the debt he owed the world. The debt he owed the world and Dean.

Maybe, Sam thought, at this point, he and the world were square and what he really owed was the world, to Dean.  
*************************************************************************

The beeping of machines resonated perfectly with the beating of Dean's heart. 

Sam's limp hand was the the same temperature as Dean's worst fears. Sam's hand fit just right in Dean's and the bright white walls made Sam's grey skin look all the more drawn.

Dean absentmindedly rubbed his thumb over the hand resting palm up in his own, his finger accidentally running over the ridge of scar tissue. Dean's shoulders hunched up a little higher, a little tighter and they seemed to say 'I'm sorry Sammy, I failed you, and here we are. Again'.

*************************************************************************

Sam sometimes wondered where the line was between love and hate and how far you had to be on one side to be over the other.

Sometimes, Sam thought, maybe there wasn't a line at all. Maybe the two were actually one. Maybe you had to love someone more than life itself to do something so terrible it was perfectly balanced on the other sides of the scale.

And Dean did love him, Sam knew that. Dean loved him more than life itself. 

Sometimes, Sam wished he didn't.

*************************************************************************

When Dean dreamed, he dreamed in color; when Dean died, he died in darkness and when Dean came back, he came in shadow.

When Sam dreamed, he dreamed in memory; when Sam woke, he woke alone and when Sam smiled, his soul would cry.


End file.
